My hand lifts before I think about it, fingers curling around his jaw, forcing him to meet my eyes. “Tell me, Ty. What did he say?”
His eyes glisten, another tear spilling before he swipes it away. His mouth forms the word “fuck” before his hands move again, slow and deliberate.
“He said your mouth felt useful.”
The words punch through me, sharp for only a second before dissolving into the same dull, endless ache that’s been rotting in my chest for so long. My stomach drops, my throat tightens, and then—nothing. Just that cold, hollow space swallowing it all whole. My shoulders sag under the weight of it. I’m so tired. So weak I can’t even bleed anymore.
“I’m sorry,” he signs. “I’m so sorry they did that to you, Lucas.”
I shake my head, forcing him to stop. He shouldn’t apologize. It’s not his fault. None of this is his fault. And I don’t want an apology—not from him, not from anyone, not even from the people who did it. I don’t want their guilt. I don’t want their words. It wouldn’t fix me.
I just want peace.
I want the emptiness gone.
I want the weight lifted.
I want to feel something good, anything good again.
Why can’t they give me that?
Tyler pulls me into his arms, and I let him. His scent is citrus and warm skin—not what I crave, not the sandalwood, lavender, and faint amber that clings to Alex like a memory you can’t forget, but still, this is enough, Tyler is here. It’s real. It’s enough… for now.
I close my eyes and press my face into his chest, letting his heartbeat thud against my ear, letting his hand pat my back in small, steady movements. I can’t tell if it’s comfort or just a distraction. But it keeps me breathing.
***
My eyes stay locked on the laptop screen, the words blurring, swimming, dancing in and out of focus.
Congratulations.
Dear Lucas Miller,
On behalf of the Admissions Committee, it is my honor and privilege to share with you that you have been admitted as a transfer student to Blackwood University’s School of Business, with a Major in Accounting, beginning spring—
There’s more written below, something about how my application stands out, confirming enrollment, and deadlines, but I’m not reading it. I can’t. My gaze stays nailed to that first word. Congratulations. My mind clings to it like it’s the only thing keeping me from sinking. The letters feel heavy, like they’ve been carved into stone and dropped straight into my chest.
I got the email notification last night, right after Tyler tucked me into bed — not before forcing food down my throat that sat in my stomach like gravel, sharp and uncomfortable, threatening to rise back up if I moved wrong. The Email subject line had glared at me: Admission Decision from Blackwood University.
I didn’t click. I didn’t even hover over it. I just curled tighter beneath the covers, staring at the rain cloud humidifier on my nightstand. I couldn’t hear the water drip, but I watchedthe light-blue mist curl into the air, pretending it was enough to quiet the static in my head. Almost enough. Almost. My thoughts kept circling back, chewing themselves raw. What if they rejected me? What if they didn’t? The thoughts loop over the other storms already tearing through me.
And now, in the dimness of my room — blinds shut, air stale, windows untouched for days, I finally looked. My head feels hollow, my chest tight, my throat dry. A part of me knows this is the thing I’ve wanted for years. The thing I’ve worked toward, dreamed about. Days ago, I would’ve been tearing through the house, maybe even running across the roof, grinning until my face hurt.
But right now? I feel… nothing. Not joy. Not relief. Just a strange, quiet ache. Like my body doesn’t know how to let the good in anymore.
A shadow shifts behind me, and I turn. Tyler is standing there, eyes wide, hands flying to cover his mouth as he stares at my laptop screen. Then he looks at me, happiness flooding in his eyes.
“You got in,” he signs, hands sharp and quick, his excitement almost vibrating in the air between us. “This is like a dream come true.”
I let out a long sigh, my eyes flicking back to the acceptance letter glowing on the screen. Before I can think twice, I snap the laptop shut like it’s something dangerous and push back from the desk.
All I want is my bed—thick blankets, darkness, and the continuous silence.
But Tyler is in front of me before I take two steps, his body blocking the way. His brows knit together.
“You’re not happy?” he signs, his movements slowing, heavy with confusion. “It’s Blackwood. Your dream.”
I huff, shaking my head, fingers already lifting to answer.
